


Eve Dies in the Beginning

by plaidsuits



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Conversations of Life and Death, Existentialism, F/F, Limbo, Nothing like a good chat with an old friend to sort through the shit storm in your life.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-09-28 17:21:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20429639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plaidsuits/pseuds/plaidsuits
Summary: “Bill, oh my God. Bill, it’s so good to see you,” gushes Eve, throwing her arms around him.Bill returns the embrace.“Good to see you. I wish it were under different circumstances, but it looked like you could use a spot of good conversation.”“Am I dead? I’m dead. Fuck her. I can’t believe she shot me. I can’t believe I’m dead.”





	Eve Dies in the Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> because im trying to figure out Eve Polastri and i miss Bill
> 
> huge thank you to Sig for reviewing my work

Eve remembers the broken glass. 

She remembers the dark, emerald bottle in her hands. It was a Château Brassac Bordeaux Supérieur. The burgundy wrappings tore away easily enough, but the cork nearly crumbled in two when squirming out of the neck. She guzzled down only a fourth of the wine.

Two large swallows of bordeaux, a chaser she used after some particularly vanilla sex with Niko, sinking wine into the pit of her stomach and alcohol into her blood as fast as she could swallow.

If Eve were honest with herself, which she rarely was, she maybe would have recognized the rigidity in her body. She maybe would have taken note of her satisfaction or lack thereof. She might have even considered that she was bored.

Such thoughts were fleeting. They scattered the instant the bottle slipped through her fingers and shattered against the floor. Bordeaux bled among jagged emerald, the pool of wine crawling toward her toes.

Red still stains the ground and pools around her, but instead of the hardwood floors, scarlet crawls over the dusty ruins. Eve wonders how much of the blood on the ground would fill the bottle of bordeaux, if the bottle were unbroken. If she could unbreak everything.

Eve’s fingertips are cold. Her eyes slip shut without her permission and the back of her throat is dry. 

“Alright, Eve?”

Eve wants to blink, but her eyelids simply twitch.

“Oh, come on. I know _you_ are thirsty, but I was thinking we could go for something much sweeter. My blood sugar is low. Come on. Sit up. There you go.”

Eve pulls herself up and the image around her comes into focus. She’s no longer in the ruins. It’s white, striking at first, but her eyes adjust and it’s not as blinding. The world lacks form and shape.

“Jesus, it’s dull here,” Eve says. 

“Really? Thought it was quite green. Lush even. It’s a nice park, I promise you. Come sit with me on this bench.”

Greenery spills down, filling invisible shapes and taking the form of grass, shrubbery, and trees. Definition of the surrounding area crystallizes as grooves are chiseled out on tree bark and flowers bloom. A playground with rubber chips and playsets inflate from the earth as Eve blinks it all into focus.

“Oh. I guess it is quite lush,” says Eve.

The rungs of the park bench sit firm behind her shoulder blades, helping her to sit up straighter as she takes in the sight before her.

“Where are the kids?” Eve asks.

“Probably don’t want them to be here.”

“I suppose,” mumbles Eve. “Where is here?”

“Wherever you want it to be. I thought a park would be nice for our reunion.”

“Am I dead?”

“Almost. But not quite.”

“_Jesus Christ_.”

“Occasionally, he can be the man of the hour. But there’s more to it than that.”

Eve turns her head. A prickling feeling catches in the corner of her eye just as a lump forms in her throat. 

“Bill, oh my God. Bill, it’s so good to see you,” gushes Eve, throwing her arms around him.

Bill returns the embrace.

“Good to see you. I wish it were under different circumstances, but it looked like you could use a spot of good conversation.”

“Am I dead? I’m dead. Fuck her. I can’t believe she shot me. I can’t believe I’m dead.”

Bill pulls back and gives Eve a firm squeeze on the shoulder.

“Death is not as bad as you think it is, mate. Just a different way of being.”

“How is this even possible?”

“Don’t know. I’m not sure if there are rules to it, but it looked like you wanted to talk about it.”

Eve pulls out of his embrace and rests her back against the park bench.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” says Eve firmly, swiveling her gaze on the playground ahead.

“Oh, come on. You don’t want to talk about anyone you fancy? Perhaps a woman with cat-like eyes and delicate features?”

“Jesus Christ, Bill,” snaps Eve, turning her burning gaze on him. “She stabbed you. She. Stabbed. You. She murdered you. How are you--” Eve brings her hands up to claw the air. “How are you being so casual about this?”

Bill chuckles before offering a simple shrug. 

“The weight of life doesn’t feel so heavy after death, I suppose.”

“What is that even supposed to mean?”

“Listen, we have a lot to discuss. And very little time. We’re going to have to start chatting because you only have as long as this ice cream lasts.”

“What ic-,” but before Eve can finish, there’s a waffle cone in her hand with a fat scoop of frozen dairy. 

Bill starts at the top and cleans up the edges around his cone. His ice cream is chocolate.

“But I don’t like chocolate,” says Eve.

While midlick, Bill side-eyes her and shrugs.

“That’s fine,” he says. “What flavor do you like?”

“Pistachio, I guess.”

“Well, that’s what’s in your cone, so I don’t know why you’re moaning about it.”

When she looks from Bill’s face back to the ice cream in hand, the scoop on her waffle cone shifts from brown to bright green.

“This is nuts,” mumbles Eve. 

Bills raises his eyebrows before shaking his head.

“We don’t have time for puns. It’s already starting to run down the side.”

Ice cream spills over Eve’s fingers and drips from the end of the cone. Her hands are cold. She takes an experimental taste and finds her mouth greeted with soft, creamy finery.

“Oh this is delicious,” says Eve.

“I told you so.”

They savor the flavors of their ice cream while soaking in the quaint park before them.

“So how’s being dead?” Eve asks.

“It’s a lot like living, but just less.”

“How’s living?”

“I don’t even know where to start,” admits Eve softly. “Are you sure I’m not dead?”

“As far as I can tell.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do.”

Eve twists the cone in her fingers, letting her tongue circle the ice cream.

“Is any of this real?” Eve asks.

“It’s as real as you want it to be,” says Bill, measuring her with a look. His gaze is gentle. He wears brown trousers with a sandy, silk button-up. A scarf circles his neck once, the ends resting neatly over his chest. 

“I don’t know if I want it to be real,” Eve admits softly.

Bills hums. “Yes, well, why is that?”

“Because I’ve missed you so much. You remind me of simpler times. When things were… less. Now everything is so fucked up. If this is real then…” the sentence trails off while Eve’s eyes dart around the playground. “I’ve messed up, Bill. I’m messed up a lot. God, everything is just so different. I miss you. I miss your voice of reason. I miss having someone I could trust.”

Bill throws his arm behind Eve, resting it along the length of the park bench.

“Not many people you can trust these days?” Bills asks.

“No. God, no,” chuckles Eve. Carolyn’s face burns across her vision, and Eve wonders how one person can appear so smug and indifferent at the same time. “I did a job for Carolyn. I uh, partnered up with Villanelle and we did an undercover operation, where we were supposed to be gathering intel on Aaron Peel and his secret weapon. Turns out, it was all a farce. We were being set up to take out Peel because Villanelle does what Villanelle does best. She slit his throat and then he died, and God, I--,” _killed someone_.

“Alright. Alright. We don’t have to get into all the gritty details,” says Bill, patting her on the shoulder. “So, boss woman set you up?”

“She strictly told us not to kill Peel, but in such a way that was secretly goading. I don’t understand. If she wanted us to take care of him, why didn’t she just say it? Why did she go through all this to set us up like that? Set me up?” 

“Why does Carolyn do anything? The woman is a mystery. I met her first husband when I arrived here. From his stories, what happened to you sounds tame.”

Eve pales.

“Are there other… dead people here?”

“I suppose there are,” Bill says slowly. “But I wouldn’t think too hard on it, lest you want them to show up?”

Raymond flashes across Eve’s mind. As does Aaron Peel. All the people murdered by Villanelle. Then Raymond once more. And Raymond. She sees the blood on her hands. Feels the numbness in her body. 

Her lips are cold. She finishes the top of her ice cream and nibbles on the waffle cone.

“How are you and Niko?” Bill asks.

Eve snorts.

“He’s moved out. He does not think he likes me all that much anymore. He doesn’t understand my commitment to my job, but he’s with this new woman now from school. Gemma, I think? She’s insufferable.” Eve lifts her head to stare across the playground.

Bill winces, following Eve’s line of sight.

Beyond the yard of plastic wood chips, stands Gemma on the opposite side of the playground. She gives a half smile before raising her middle finger. She twirls on the spot and walks toward the horizon where her silhouette is snuffed out.

“What is she doing here?” Eve asks.

“Looks like she’s dead now.”

“Thank you, Bill. But how did she die?”

“Dunno. Would you like me to call her back, so we can ask her?”

Eve’s stomach churns and she shakes her head.

“It’s a little numbing,” mumbles Eve, “and terrifying when people just die constantly around you.

“Yes, well, you do associate yourself with an assassin who works on an international scale.”

“I do not associate myself with her.”

“You called her your partner? Worked on an operation with her? I hear she calls herself Billie.”

Bill raises his eyebrows.

“Yes, she does just about everything to mess with me. Mess with my head. My life, my friends.”

“And you don’t think you’ve invited any of this on yourself?”

“No, Bill. She is the one who is obsessed with me. She murdered you, stole my clothes, left a slew of victims in her wake while chasing me across Britain. Pretended to fake-poison me. She threatened Niko.”

“So the part where we chased her across Europe. Are we forgetting about that? Are we forgetting about _your_ obsession?”

“I’m not obsessed with her,” says Eve, nearly shouting. The waffle cone cracks in her grasp and a few crumbs fall to the ground.

“Careful, mate. We only have as long as this ice cream lasts,” says Bill slowly. 

“Sorry, I just-”

“But what if you are obsessed with her?”

“I’m not.”

“No, no I heard you. But what if you are? Just for a moment, what if you considered the possibility of mutual obsession? Fascination. Infatuation.”

“Why would I ever--”

“Because Eve it’s getting quite dull watching you deny yourself everyday. Everyone around you seems to know precisely what you want except for you and you won’t even go for it.”

“Go for what?”

“See! There you go again. The faux obliviousness. I’m talking about Villanelle. Going for her.”

Eve opens her mouth a few times before mumbling, “I’m not-”

“Eve, I’m far too dead to explore the complexities of your identities. What you consider yourself to be or not to be. Besides, it’s approaching my naptime, so we will have to go over this quickly.”

“Go over what?”

Bills sighs, removes his hand from the bench, and runs his palm against his cheek.

“For a moment-- now entertain me please-- for a moment, just consider that you may have some feelings for her.”

“Yes. Okay. I’ve considered it. Great. Now what do you want me to do with those feelings? Are you advising me to shack up with an assassin?”

Bill shrugs. 

“It’s your life. Do whatever you want with it.”

“What about the fact that she has zero capacity for morals? She’s manipulative. She’s dangerous-” 

“You’re so concerned about the details of living and living it right,” groans Bill. “And I’m not shaming you for that, but Eve, when you’re dead, you think about all the opportunities you never got to take. I’ve watched you and I’ve watched this situation, and all I am saying is it would be a waste of an opportunity if you didn’t see it through until the end.”

“See what through until the end?”

Bill massages the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb.

“Okay,” sighs Bill. 

“Okay?”

“Look, if you really don’t want to consider it, fine. I’m almost finished with my ice cream.”

Eve picks off a waffle flake, smeared in pistachio cream, and tosses into her mouth. From lips to chest, she’s freezing so the flake passes numbly down her throat. Her eyes travel warily over Bill’s tired form. 

“I’m… sorry.”

Bill’s eyebrows rise and he says, “Come again?”

“I’m sorry,” Eve says. A tremble starts in her lip that she can’t tame, accompanied by a steady tear down the side of her cheek. “I’m sorry you’re dead, Bill. I’m sorry about all the people who keep dying. I’m sorry that I’m a dick. I’m sorry that you’re not going to see your kid grow up. I’m sorry that Kieko is a widow. I’m sorry that I just parade around in my life, flaunting it with no direction. I have no idea what I’m doing. I had no idea what to do about Villanelle. Every time I think I’m in control of something, I’m not. I’m not. I’m just not,” Eve finishes weakly before sniffing.

She swipes her hand underneath her nose.

“You’ve got something there.”

Pistachio ice cream cakes her upper lip.

“I’m saving it,” says Eve.

“You’re waking up soon, so no sense in that.”

There’s a slight pinch in Eve’s hand when she rubs the ice cream off her face, but when she checks her knuckles there are no blemishes. There’s a swooping feeling in her stomach, as if her innards are doing somersaults. Everywhere feels cold; she starts to shiver.

Bill drapes his arm around Eve, rubbing soothing circles on her back.

“This is the worst part,” says Bill.

“What is?”

“Waking up.”

“And what if I don’t want to wake up?”

“Well, it will make it infinitely worse for you, mate.” 

Eve rests her head on Bill’s shoulder.

“But I didn’t get to finish my ice cream.”

“I can if you would like.”

Eve passes off the rest of her cone to him.

The world starts to lose its focus. Its all a little grainy, the details sifting through the ground like sand spilling through a bag. The vibrant colors slip away and then it’s gray and a little bleak. Two friends on a park bench are all that remain.

“Do you remember sitting in my hotel room before my date with Jin?” Eve asks.

Bill hums.

“It all seemed so much simpler then.”

“When we talked about the tits of a certain woman you fancy?”

“Amazing tits.”

“I knew it,” Bill says softly. 

Eve slouches further into him. She fights to keep her eyes open.

“Do you remember meeting Weber at Hot Medica? In Berlin?”

“Mhmm.”

Bill chuckles, almost to himself, as he gazes into the gray abyss. 

“Well, when we were younger, we were what you might call a thing. Weber and I started seeing each other for a few weeks. There were sparks. The butterflies. We thought we were in love. Then Weber went to work in the Neubrandenburg office for a few months, so our thing ended. And after Weber, there was Barrett,” says Bill, rubbing circles into Eve’s back. He adds, “his older brother.”

Eve inhales, eyes sliding open, and she tries to sit up straighter, but the numbness mutes her brain from communicating with the rest of her body.

“Scandalous,” mumbles Eve.

“It was. Scandalous. Reckless. But Barrett was handsome. He was magnetic. His smile would pull you in to his gravity, where being with him felt like the very center of the universe. We did everything together. Most nights, we would frequent local bars and then come home to his bedroom where we would still be chatting as the sun would rise. It sounds boring, but it was enchanting to be with him.”

“Was this your leather chaps phase?”

“Yes.”

“Did you love him?”

“Did you not hear me? It was my leather chaps phase. Of course I loved him!”

Eve snorts. Her eyes flutter shut, but she still feels Bill hand massaging her back.

“How did Weber take the news?”

“We never told him. I couldn’t bear to break his heart. We did our best to keep it from him when he returned from work, but he moved on quickly. Another bar. Another lover. We were quite similar in our romantic pursuits; we spent more time in love with strangers than with our hearts broken.”

“And the big finish?” Eve asks with a yawn.

“The things Barrett and I did were irritational, but we were in love. Falling in love though is often irritational, so expecting any rationality afterwards is just silly.”

Eve adjusts, lying fully down on the park bench. She rolls onto her back.

“Are you calling me silly?” Eve asks, eyes still closed.

“I’m calling you irritational and maybe Villanelle is too. So any rationality you think the situation calls for--”

“Is just silly.”

“Aha. Exactly.”

“I will keep that in mind.”

There’s a consistent beeping in the backdrop and Bill’s voice seems faint now.

“Good chatting with you, Eve. Stay strong. You’re brilliant.”

_Thank you, Bill._

Eve thinks the last bit with all of her heart, for her mouth refuses to open now. Her body is unresponsive, but the beeping becomes more apparent in the space with Eve. She’s parched. There’s a dull ache in her stomach. Eve groans, trying to open her eyes. It takes several attempts, but she’s able to blink the room into focus.

She’s in a hospital bed with an assortment of tubes connected to her being. Wood floors and sensible paintings fill her vision. A curtain is drawn, blocking out the commotion of people to what Eve assumes is the hallway. 

A delicate shuffle catches Eve’s ear. Behind the curtain, boots scuff against the linoleum before Villanelle rounds the corner. She is dressed in a pair of gray trousers and a baggy, charcoal sweater. Her hair is tied back into a low, messy bun. In her hands is a bottle of wine with a note tied to the neck. She sets it on the table, where an assortment of flowers, gift bags, and fruit baskets rest.

Eve squints, seeing that each of them have a note that reads:

_Sorry, baby x_

Eve rolls her eyes and snorts, but an itch catches in her throat causing her to erupt in a fit of coughing.

Villanelle turns and frowns, appraising Eve’s condition. Her eyes widen when she meets Eve’s gaze.

“Oh, you’re awake,” Villanelle whispers.

“Yeah,” Eve croaks when the coughing subsides.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve just been shot,” Eve mumbles.

Villanelle winces and looks away. There are bags beneath her eyes and her shoulders slouch in a way that seems foreign to her posture.

Eve holds a match to her anger, willing it to ignite, and to hold it against this woman who single-handedly ruined her life. She feels a sharp comment die on her tongue and she sighs. 

“Can I have some?” Eve asks, nodding toward the bottle.

Villanelle lifts her eyes.

“We’re in a hospital, Eve.”

“Yes, and I am thirsty.”

“You are dehydrated.”

“Please?”

“We have no glasses.”

Eve eyes the styrofoam cup dispenser next to the sink.

“Plastic cups work just fine.”

Villanelle winces once more, but walks to the sink.

“You will just be more thirsty after you drink the wine.”

Eve does a once-over of Villanelle’s body when she turns. She sighs as she falls back against her pillow and accepts the warning.

“I know, Vil. I know.”


End file.
